Blood bowl : the rise of the Winterfell Reavers
by alexrusso89
Summary: Lore for my wood elf team Alex russo is back this tome hired by Jon Snow to coach the Winterfell Reavers who are on the world Blood bowl circut. The only problem os they are Wood elves and Alex is a witch
1. Chapter 1

Alex Russo stopped walking. Just ahead of her, on the most pristine pitch she had ever seen, the Winterfell Reavers, deaf to her entrance, continued to train.

A treeman, bounded down the pitch. Two of the team's blitzers, topless and well chiseled abs, were laying merrily on the side, while others attempted to dodge each other.

Alex gazed at it ruefully. She was pretty sure they were wood elves,. And she was sure they had the high might attitude most elves had, technically speaking. She just wasn't quite sure.

Slowly, she removed the scrumpled-up note from beneath her chainmail vest and stared at it, to check she hadn't got the time or the date wrong.

Winterfell training pitch, Midday. Team will be there. Put them through their paces!

Nowhere did her new boss's memo mention elves. Or the big treeman, which had now stolen a player's helmet and was using it to hit another player vigorously in the groin.

Alex turned and gazed back over the other playing fields, where the distant teams were busy practicing passes, throwing the ball back and forth, tackling, and running. Blood Bowl practice, in short.

"Come to watch the fun, have you? You've picked the right time for it."

Alex found herself staring up into the grinning face of a madman; a wiry, ash-stained face, filled with spiky brown hair. After a moment, it produced a bagful of McMurty's Famed Potato Segments and began to munch on them.

"Hello" Alex said. "I guess so"

Her fellow spectator glanced back around at her made a sympathetic noise, and offered her a crisp.

"No," Alex said. "No, thank you. Look, I'm supposed to be coaching a team on this pitch, so I really must insist that…'

Sam's eyebrows creased suspiciously.

"Coach?" he asked.

Alex felt a little relieved.

"Yes!" he said. "Yes, exactly! So I really must insist that, uh, your...players…"

"Snow sent you"

Alex's heart sank into her boots.

"...he did," she managed, weakly.

Sam's face split into a grin; as he pulled Alex into a hug.

"Bloody," he said. "Bloody good. Jon said he might be sending somebody new. I never thought he would send a witch, not that being a witch is a bad thing, Im Sam the Team apothecary. Pleasure's all mine."

"Sam," said Alex, "and you- listen, are you telling me you're responsible for healing those people?"

"Those people?" Justin repeated, mildly. "Oh, the Reavers. Well, it's an easy job, you know. Wood elves heal very quickly!"

Alex stared at him.

"I'd like to speak with them," she said. "Do they...I mean, when do they finish training?".

"Oh," Sam said, " They aren't the...how do i put it...the best with other races"

"No," Alex said, very carefully. "Clearly not."

"Listen," said Sam . "Why don't I call the captain over and the two of you can get introduced? Him and me have had a certain rapport."

Alex began,

"I don't think that's a very good-"

Sam cupped his hands together.

"OI! JACK!"


	2. Chapter 2

Alex went pale as the shout echoed out across the dead grass.

An incredibly well chisled wood elf, clad in the team's green and yellow gold leathers, punched one of his teammates decisively in the mouth a couple of times before turning around in their direction. Waving one hand, he leaped forward towards them, stepping over his his fallen teammates as he went.

"Jack is a new edition to the team, and the brains of the group," Sam said confidingly. "He use to captain the Elfhiem Eagles, till they booted him out, its rumoured they were jealous of his looks, down on his luck Jon Snow offered him a spot on his Wood elf team and Now- Jack," he called, as the Wood elf approached, "coach wants a word with you."

Jack drew to an abrupt halt. His pale blue eyes fixed onto Alex, and seemed to harden.

Alex took a step backwards and considered her chances of successfully running away.

"Hey, there," she said, haltingly. "Nice to meet you...I'm the new coach."

Jack continued to stare at her. He grunted,

"Coach?"

He glanced across towards Sam, as if seeking an answer to his own question.

"A coach," the doctor said, waving his arms in explanation, "she tells you what you should do. Who you should hit first"

Jack still stared at Alex.

"We dont need no coach," he muttered.

"I'm here to help you win," Alex insisted.

"'Elp us win," Jack repeated, to himself.

"You're a Humie" he said.

"Yes," Alex said, and added, unnecessarily, "I know."

Jack turned around, and was stumbling back across the field towards the training.

"Let him go, coach," Sam said. "He just needs to talk things over with the team

Alex watched as Jack got his team's attention, gradually, by grabbing hold of two of them at a time and banging their heads together, and then yelling at them.

"You've got the crowd, coach," Sam said. He gave Alex a cheerful slap on the back. "Go on, introduce yourself. They won't bite- actually, no. Forget I said that."

Alex glared at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex Russo, coach of the Winterfell Reavers, was shouting. Mostly it was because she was extremely annoyed.

"One more time," she snapped. "When the match is over, the opposition walks off the pitch and…"

The Reavers glared at her.

"…and you applaud them," Alex said. "You don't, repeat, don't beat them to death. Isn't that right, Jack?"

The incredibly chiseled wood elf who served as the Reavers captain removed his helmet, and glared at Alex..

"They were Gobbo's," he said.

"Even goblins deserve our respect," Alex snarled, then corrected herself. "On the Blood Bowl pitch, at least, where they're fellow players. And now the four surviving members of the Gloomspite Scumbags are saying they want to cancel their next game against us. Is this the image we want to project? I mean, really?"

The Reavers, gazes lowered, kicked at the dirt and mumbled vague apologies. They'd not always been fond of their coach. But they will admit she was beginning to grow on them, even for a humie'.

From the broken wooden stands of Winterfell's Green, a couple of fans, dressed in the team's traditional green and yellow gold colours, had lingered on to listen to the coach give the team a good old-fashioned yell.

Jessi Noire, runner and human of the team, raised her hand. Her pretty face, stained with mud, blood, and the green warpaint, broke into a pleading smile.

"Oh, come on, coach," she said. "When Jack threw that gobbo over the stand, I thought I'd die of laughter."

There were a few appreciative chuckles from the rest of the Reavers. Alex held back the slightly malevolent grin that was threatening to spread across her face.

"Ok," she said. "It was a little funny"

Chris Riversworth, wardancer, furrowed his brow for a moment.

"…we dont need a coach" he said .

Alex gave up.

"Two laps of the pitch, all of you," she said, "then head in and hit the showers. Go on, get out of here. But don't think you've heard the last of this."

The Winterfell Reavers, grumbling and shoving amongst themselves, turned and began to make their way across the pitch. Alex turned, strolled to the very edge of the stands and stood there in silence for some time.

Finally, she said,

"Bugger this, Sam."

Sam Tully, Team apothecary, then replied,

"They were only gobbo's, coach."

"That's not the point," Alex snapped. "One day it's only Gobbo's, the next it's only humans. We're rotting away here in the lower leagues, Sam. Half the division's teams don't want to play us any more." Alex sighed. "We need to get the cameras on us, bring a few more fans in to fill the seats. Why hasn't Jon Snow entered us for any cups, any leagues? That's what I want to know"

"Ah," Sam mumbled " Jon's a good owner. He's never steered us wrong before."

Alex sighed again. Sam patted Alex consolingly on her shoulder.

"Come on, coach," he said. "Let's go have a nice cool pint in the Tavern."


	4. Chapter 4

In the highest seats of the stand, the commentators of Fester Match Special, A Cabalvision Channel With Double-Digit Viewing Figures, were going live.

"Yes, it's a gorgeous morning here at Winterfell as the Winterfell Reavers take on the Skavenblight scramblers. You're live with me, Arya Stark, and my commentary companion, Ash Greyjoy

Arya glanced across at the older woman beside her.

"You're an ex player, Ash," she continued. "What do the Scramblers need to do to win this match?"

"Meet the reavers on their terms, Arya. They cannot hope-hope to match them physically, so they're going to have to run. Keep the ball moving, stay out of contact…"

"Prediction on the scoreline?"

"Too close-close to call. But the fans will be very, very unlucky if they don't see some horrible mauling-mauling and even maybe a touchdown."

"Here come the Scramblers now," Arya continued, "led by their captain, Clint Gritclaw. And – oh, my, looks like they've been feeding up their rat ogre, uh, 'Ratclaw'. Some real imagination went into that name, eh, Ash?"

Little shapes in green and black robes were scurrying out across the field, below, their tails flicking in perfect rhythm as they went. Behind them, moaning dully and swiping at thin air with its enormous, twisted paws, was a hideous and horrifying abomination, eight feet high, the shattered remnants of blades and spears lodged in its hairless flesh.

Arya regarded it critically.

"Did that always have two heads?" she asked.

"And the home crowd is up-up in their seats," Ash shouted, "because here come the reavers!"

"Team captain Jack Indigo heading across to the referee to decide the coin toss there, as coach Alex Russo takes her seat in the dugout…ah! And sections of the home crowd have started an all-out brawl with the away crowd. That should keep us all entertained in the tedious seconds before the match actually begins."

Alex sat down, ignoring the habitual volley of projectiles and crossbow bolts from the opposition crowd that rattled harmlessly off the dugout wall behind her. She glanced across to the Skaven coach, a gaunt-looking dwarf, who sat with his arms crossed, gnawing his own lip with apparent nervousness.

"Good luck to you," Alex said, leaning over to shake his hand.

The dwarf turned, and gave her a look of pure, whimpering terror.

"They're going to crucify me," he whispered.

Out on the pitch, the two teams were taking up their positions; in the centre, Jack, having won the toss, requested that they received the kick

Chris glanced at his opposite number at the line of scrimmage, a black-furred ratman, almost as tall as a human, dressed in full metal armour adorned with spikes, chains and even a couple of skulls. The Stormvermin stared back at him, defiantly.

The referee, a tiny goblin painted all over in black-and-white stripes, glanced up at the sky for a moment, checking the position of the sun, before blowing his whistle.

Chris swung his arm around, hard. Blood jerked up into the air, and the Skaven went tumbling backwards.

He was halfway across the pitch. He gazed at the fallen figure of the Stormvermin, twitching back by the line of scrimmage.

"Nuffles nards " he muttered, kicking at the grass, and turned away just as the ball went flying over his head.

A spinning flurry of fur launched itself into the air; the rat-man snatched the ball up, mid-flight, and landed.

Zack Lightyear saw the Skaven runner dash forward into the Reavers's half. He bent downwards, aiming his body vaguely in the direction of the fast-moving Skaven.

"To infinity," he declared, "and some other place."

The ensuing tackle was quite a violent one, and it drew an appreciative ripple of applause from the crowd. Both teams had taken advantage of the distraction and were now busy stamping on the heads of the fallen.

"Some good old-fashioned, meat-and-potatoes foul play there," Arya said into her microphone.

"It's got the crowd-crowd on their feet. And it looks as if we're going to be treated-treated to the Reavers fan anthem."

In the highest end of the stand, a man with a green and yellow scarf had, indeed, got to his feet. Clapping his hands high above his head.

"Buddy, we make a big noise, burning down the street, gonna take on the Auld World some day!"

And the roar spread through the crowd, punctuated by a single, rhythmic clap,

"You got blood on your face, and that other guy's face – looks like you hit him too hard with that mace. Singin', WE WILL, WE WILL, BASH YOU. OI!"

The Gutter Runner streaked down into the Reavers' half, ducking easily past the Reavers. Then it made the mistake of glancing over its own shoulder to see if it was being followed.

Jessi Noire kicked it in the face, then tapped the ball up into the air, caught it, and began to run.

A Skaven player launched itself at her, screeching madly; she simply extended her free arm, raising the long iron spike attached to her elbow, and kept running until they collided.

The weight of impact knocked her over, tumbling forward, the little creature wailing as the spike drove itself into its shoulder. She hit the ground, but kept clinging on to the ball.

Tiny claws snatched hold of her wrist, digging in, trying to prise the ball away. Jessi cried out in pain, and kicked upwards with both of her knees. The Skaven squealed, and tumbled back.

She leapt up, ducking to avoid Jack's Kick, and kept running. The grass tore up beneath her feet.

Dodging a flaming projectile being hurled at her from somewhere in the crowd, she tripped, stumbled, but kept herself upright, aware of the horrid hissing and click-clack of iron claws that suggested rat-men were close behind her.

As the end of the pitch came into focus, she gritted her teeth and pressed on, her legs aching, pounding away at the turf-

-and shrieked as a gigantic hand tore through the air and snatched her up.

Ratclaw, lifting the struggling human to eye-level, gave her a curious look. The rat-ogre licked at its raw, bloody lips.

Jessi closed her eyes.

And then from somewhere below, punctuated by the sound of thumping feet, growing louder, and louder, she heard a familiar, bellowing battle cry,

She opened her eyes.

Oakbeard.

He Kicked the rat-ogre in the face. Ratclaw staggered, and snarled, lashing out at the treeman with its free paw.

"Oakbeard," Jessi yelled, "take the ball! Let go of it and take the ball!"

"'EEEEEEEREEEE WE GOOOOO!"

Jack Indigo took a running jump, launching himself and crashed headlong into the flailing rat-ogre, his legs, buckling, began to give.

"Oooh," Jessi Noire yelled, as she found herself being carried downwards in the rat-ogre's outstretched hand, "oooh, ooossshhhiii-"

There was a thump. And, a split second later, the unmistakable and rather nasty sound of bones snapping beneath a great body of pressure, Jessi went tumbling out, ball still in hand, and fell, face-first, into the grass of the endzone. She gazed foggily at the blurred, spinning green vista stretching out before her.

Weakly, with a tired little groan, she stretched out her hand, and tapped the ball once against the ground. Then she fell over.

"TOUCHDOWN!" Arya roared. "TOUCHDOWN TO THE WINTERFELL REAVERS!"

The crowd erupted.

After a few moments of quiet, aching contemplation in which the world went a funny shade of white, Jessi pushed herself to her feet, staggering just a little from one direction to the next, and looked about for her teammates.

The team, as one, were gazing down at the rat ogre, who was lying perfectly still on the ground, its torso pressed down into the sunken earth of the endzone.

"Think it's dead?" Zack asked.

Jack Indigo raised his boot thoughtfully, and stamped four or five times on the rat-ogre's head.

"That should do it," he said, with a certain quiet satisfaction.


End file.
